


The Last Marauder

by acurseofmeadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'll most likely add more tags as this goes on, Past Relationship(s), Post-Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Pre-Canon, Probably a Stupid Plan or Two, Remus isn't okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acurseofmeadows/pseuds/acurseofmeadows
Summary: In the wake of Halloween 1981, Remus Lupin is on the brink of giving up. Unable to hold a job or apartment for long, every day seems bleaker than the last, and Remus struggles to keep his head above the ever-rising waters. After a misguided fascination with the tortures of Azkaban, he begins to uncover secrets that would better remain hidden, and in his increasingly desperate search for answers, begins to plot the last escapade a marauder will take.Azkaban may not allow visitors, but he has an old friend to see.
Relationships: Implied Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 4





	The Last Marauder

_Dementors are foul, amoral creatures. Primarily, they are sustenance-motivated, showing very few higher cognitive abilities that would indicate a grasp on ethics. Devoid of such emotions themselves, they feed on happiness and good memories; the more pleasant, the more sustaining to them. In this manner, it has been determined that they serve as the perfect guards to the wizarding prison Azkaban: they are unrelenting, both in hunting tactics and inability to be bribed or reasoned with. Similarly, their presence alone serves as punishment. After all, the worst punishment one can face is the consumption of their most precious-_

Remus snaps the book shut. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and gently rubs at his temples. Some part of him had believed that understanding what Black was going through in Azkaban would grant him some kind of vindictive peace, but the ever-increasing knowledge only served to further hollow him out. Sirius Black may be the one facing those creatures down, but Remus felt his own memories of more joyful times being sapped by the moment. Those that remained grew more tainted, more dark, with every moment he considered them. Therefore, he only sought to remember when he really needed to.

Like most things in his life these days, his recent foray into an understanding of Dementors was motivated entirely through rage. His anger had stoked itself within him, hot coals threatening to consume him whole. Yet, as weeks after Halloween turned into months, and months to a year, that anger gave way to an unrelenting sorrow, a constant state of mourning. He mourns his best friends, James, Lily, Peter, their lives ended too soon. He mourns Harry, the young man who may never know his Uncle Remus again. And, with measures of guilt and bitter rage, he mourns the man Sirius was, the man Remus thought he would be. Remus floated through his days not quite unlike a Dementor himself, he bitterly muses. Oh, what the Potters would think of him now.

The book in front of him is a rather short think-piece authored by one Eldritch Diggory, a Minister of Magic that sought to replace the Dementors of Azkaban with more humane methods of containment. Unfortunately for him, and for the prisoners, his efforts were mostly met with derision. Wizards across the United Kingdom feared what removing the Dementors’ approved feeding grounds would mean for the rest of the continent as they would presumably search for sustenance through other means. Still, the more Remus learns of their torturous methods, the more he’s inclined to agree with the late Minister Diggory.

Not that it matters, of course. Remus can barely keep one job, much less any position that would enact meaningful change anywhere. No wizarding position wants a werewolf, and no muggle wants a man that disappears for a week out of every month. He’s recently been scraping by with a part time position at a local muggle school teaching their maths; something similar enough to arithmancy that he was able to demonstrate aptitude for it well enough. Still, without any formal writ of muggle education, he will not be getting any more pay than he has been. 

Another benefit of the position is its location. Remus’ school is within twenty kilometers of one street by the name of Privet Drive and, though barred from ever visiting or even acknowledging the boy’s presence, brings him comfort in knowing he’s nearby, just in case. Occasionally, when he believes he can be conspicuous enough, he takes a stroll in and around nearby grocery stores, hoping to catch a glimpse of his infant nephew. Thusfar he has been unsuccessful, but it’s worth a shot, to him. Those efforts, along with his research into the Dementors, have given him enough things to keep his mind occupied with, away from the haunting emptiness his life seems to have morphed into.

It’s hard to consider where he is now versus where he was a year ago. If he thinks about it enough, the ache of their loss threatens to consume him, but he can always feel it waiting for its moment at the edges of his attention. Shaking such thoughts away, Remus stands up from his table in the corner of Flourish and Blotts’, stretching his legs and walking to the small window overlooking Diagon Alley. Some things, at least, never change, and the faded cobblestone beneath his view attests to that. He ambles back to the table he left his chosen books, then picks them up and carries them to the counter downstairs.

“That’ll be thirteen sickles,” Madam Villanelle says, looking him up and down with a furrowed brow. He hands her a galleon, thanking her for her time, when she suddenly stops him. “Wait, Remus.”

“Yes, Madam?”

Her dark, copper eyes survey him, “You don’t look well.”

He offers her a reassuring smile, yet knows it doesn’t reach his eyes. It hasn’t in a while. “I’m quite alright, actually.”

Madam Villanelle shakes her head with stern disapproval, “Ever the awful liar, I see.” Before he can respond, she continues, voice firm, “Life has been worse to you in the past year than it has been to many, child. If you need a job, or a place to stay, I can at least offer help.”

_Not if you knew the truth about me_ , he thinks to himself ruefully, but responds with gratitude nonetheless. “Thank you, Madam, but I assure you I’m fine.”

She exhales sharply through her nose, but doesn’t respond in turn. She hands him his change and they bid each other good days.

It’s not until he’s halfway home that he realizes she gave him extra sickles.

~~

The apartment Remus has been living in for the past month or so is also run by muggles. These landlords are notorious throughout the town for their stinginess and low quality housing, which makes it perfect for a man with not much money and a propensity for disappearing. His landlord couldn’t care less, as long as Remus made the rent on time. And even with rent fully paid and on time, his landlord had still not learned Remus’ name. 

Remus removes his outer coat, reserved for occasions outside during which he wants to look presentable, like in the wizarding world, or at his job, and replaces it with a threadbare jumper. Through the yarn, he still feels a bit of a chill (winter is, unfortunately, just around the corner), so he warms up some water using his magic and brews himself a cup of tea; one of the few luxuries he still alotts himself. Tea made, he grabs an equally worn down blanket and settles into his favorite corner with one of his newly obtained books, beginning to read.

_The question we, as wizards and perhaps as human beings at all, find ourselves with is: how can one combat such endless despair? You, reader, like many, may have heard the typical spiel of hope conquering the deepest of darknesses, but such hope is hard to obtain when you cannot remember it. And, even if you can remember it, bringing up such memories to the forefront of the mind may only encourage the Dementors to feed upon you. Should you be without a wand or method of casting at the time, such a situation would only prove ruinous; and even, perhaps, end up in receiving its kiss: the most deadly of its abilities._

_Thankfully, recent studies into muggle affairs may hold the secret to combating these creatures. Without the crutch of magic, muggles must combat their own maladies by studying themselves and each other, rather than the force of magic that we dedicate ourselves to. Despite our ability to harness magic at all, we are not much different from muggles in our physical make up, so their methods may be an important key to fighting Dementors, and the chronic depression they seem to inspire._

Remus, out of habit from his school days, nods along as he reads. The book goes further into muggle ideas of something they call “psychology”, a study of the human brain. This is deeply fascinating to Remus; studying the brain! He vaguely knew of such through his experiences of interacting with muggles, but the level of detail through which they seek to learn things about the body is staggering. It’s a wonder this isn’t taught more in muggle studies; like that author had implied, what _else_ had wizards been neglecting in their pursuit of magic?

Furthermore, what would inspire muggles to look into such things at all? Studying the brain must have some sort of merit, but ‘diseases’ of the sort are rather taboo to wizards. Being mad was a one way trip to St. Mungo’s, and your stay was almost guaranteed not to be a pleasant one. What do muggles know that wizards don’t?

His musings are cut off by a sharp knock on the small window on the opposite side of the room. A large, flapping shadow indicates the presence of a postage owl, and he rushes to open the window and let the bird in. It flies around for a bit, searching for a place to perch, and seems dissatisfied with the noticeable lack of furniture in the room on which to sit. Remus holds out his arm, and it drops the package at his feet, then lands on the offered arm and balefully hoots at him.

“Hush now,” he hisses, “I wasn’t expecting a package, and you must be quiet. There are muggles in this building.”

The owl, large and speckled, slowly blinks at him, then holds out its leg, attached to which is a small pouch. Remus huffs and places a few sickles into it, and the owl flies to the door of a cabinet left ajar in his small kitchenette, beginning to preen itself. He closes the window, shutting out the chilly evening air, and turns his attention to the package at his feet. The package is small, brown, and clumsily wrapped, tied into a formless lump by some twine. It reads: _To Mr. Remus J. Lupin, From Rubeus Hagrid_ in sprawling, messy handwriting.

He raises an eyebrow, then carefully unfurls the twine. This proves unsuccessful, however, as the contents of the package tumble out of it as soon as he barely pokes it. In the package was a small tin of rock cakes, Hagrid’s famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked. Remus, for one, quite enjoyed them soaked in milk) baked treat, and a folded up note. The letter reads:

_Remus! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen yeh around, an’ I was wonderin’ if you’d like ter meet for a cup sometime soon. Fang sure misses yeh, an’ so do I. Already talked it over with the Headmaster, I did, an’ he said it was ok. So, if yeh wanna, we can meet anywhere, really. I kno it’s hard to get ter Hogwarts, so I can meet yeh at the Leaky Cauldron if yeh want, probally. Sen’ a reply when yeh feel like it. Yer pal, Hagrid._

Remus feels a smile tugging at his lips as he reads the scrawl of his old friend. He quickly tears a piece of parchment from one of his notebooks and jots down a reply amounting to “Yes, that would be lovely,” and offers to meet him next Friday around noon, asking him how he’s been in the meantime. Satisfied with the letter, he rolls it up in some of the twine from the package and hands it to the owl, with some nuts from his pantry for good measure. The owl snatches both letter and food, then flies to the window, where Remus lets it out. 

Alone in his apartment once more, Remus notices just how quiet it is. The same, dark thoughts lap at the edge of his attention, and he takes a brief moment to beat them back with a stick. Taking a deep breath, he instead focuses on his (hopeful) meeting with Hagrid in a week. It would be a nice change of pace, and he does miss the half-giant a lot.

When that fails to occupy him for long though, he sighs, and instead gets to work on the pile of dishes he’s been neglecting.

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! thanks for reading! I'm not sure how many chapters this fic is going to end up, but I have a pretty good idea of where I want the story to go in general so. woo. the concept for this fic stemmed from a conversation I had with some friends about why Remus knew so much about dementors, so here we are. I'm going to try to update this fic bi-weekly, so we'll see how it goes!


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